


Let In The Sun

by taormina



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has bad dreams at night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let In The Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Quick fic that I wrote when I was feeling down this morning.

Bucky told himself over and over again that was he was dealing with were just demons from the past. Memories that they hadn’t given a place yet. Ghosts.

He knew deep down that his demons would eventually go away – and hopefully just as quickly as they had arrived a hundred contemplative mornings ago – but that didn’t stop him from feeling like something had crawled underneath his skin; this invisible, invasive parasite that was leeching all the joy and excitement out of him. Like he was back there in that dank, dusty room, being experimented on, all over again.

It didn’t make sense, though, did it? Bucky was with Steve. Bucky was with him every waking hour, and Steve simply _embodied_ joy. Steve was glee and happy endings and the strength to hold on, and everything Bucky wished he was. He was the one constant factor in his life that Bucky always caught himself looking forward to.

So why did Bucky wake up every morning feeling as though there was a weight pulling him down into the bed and into the dark? What was this itch that Bucky felt like he had to painfully scratch off his body until he bled?

It made him feel as though he hadn’t made any progress as all.

It happened again that morning. Waking with a start – no doubt having had yet another one of his nightmares about men with disfigured features doing himself and others harm –, their room did not feel safe in the slightest. The soft light that fell onto his partner’s familiar body via the half-open curtains was only a slight comfort.

The same was true for the joyous chirping of birds outside their window; it was there, vaguely, telling him he was alive, but it did not quite make the sweat on Bucky’s chest and the phantoms in his head go away.

5:39. Turned away from Bucky ever so slightly, Steve looked utterly content sleeping in their king-sized bed.

Bucky could only vaguely remember the previous night.

As per usual, Bucky got out of the bed as quietly as he could and shakily put on a pair of jeans that more or less looked like they’d been washed recently. He didn’t bother putting on a fresh shirt. He couldn’t remember where he’d last seen his boxers.

The roof of the Avengers tower was usually where Bucky went if he was feeling the way he did now: confused, disoriented. Unhappy for reasons that he could not put his finger on. He was with Steve. He was in the Avengers tower, away from monsters and villains but for in his dreams.

And yet the negativity kept following him all the way up to the roof.

(Once you figure out how to dismantle the security lock on the door it’s pretty easy to get there, and it was not as though anyone was awake to get mad at him anyway. One time he caught Sam sitting on the edge of the roof at three in the morning in his super suit, but they both casually pretended not to have seen each other.)

Here, shrouded by the orange half-dark of the slowly rising sun, Bucky could calm down and wait until his heartbeat finally matched the tranquillity of the morning. He tried to rid his mind’s eye of the frightening images from the night by focussing on a single, miniscule truck down, down below that he spotted turning round a corner. He wondered how the person who was driving it was feeling. He wondered what it would be like to not have to worry.

A pleasant breeze tickled his face.

The sky smelled faintly of rain.

He was starting to feel better now.

 _Almost_ , if not for the ever lingering feeling that one of the faceless creatures from his nightmares may come out to pull him back into the dream world.

Then a hand was on his shoulder, and Bucky was back where he belonged.

‘Hey, you okay, buddy?’

It was Steve. He, too, had gotten dressed, and was now wearing a simple white t-shirt and jogging pants. There were goose bumps all over his bare arms, and it was only now that Bucky realized how cold it was up here. Predictably, Steve looked worried.

‘‘m fine,’ replied Bucky a little too quickly, and he ran his fingers through his hair to look casual — even though he was still shaking from head to toe. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure whether he should be grateful that Steve had followed him up, or feel peeved at himself for not being able to sneak away quietly despite having been trained how to do so in a previous life. How many times _had_ he woken Steve up in the morning? ‘Just needed some fresh air,’ Bucky added unconvincingly.

‘Bad dream, huh?’ said Steve rhetorically.

Bucky nodded a little embarrassedly, and Steve smiled as though saying “I’ve been there, pal.”

Steve’s fingers trailed softly down Bucky’s right arm, and Bucky shivered in a way that had nothing to do with how cold it was. ‘Come back to bed with me, Buck,’ said Steve softly before slipping his hand into Bucky’s and squeezing gently.

Bucky only just managed to suppress a gasp.

It had taken months for Bucky to feel comfortable with this kind of touching. When he finally was, every single touch, no matter how faint, felt like a thousand hands onto his body at once, elevating him towards pleasure like only Steve could.

Only with Steve did he feel safe enough.

Yet Bucky shook his head minutely. Going back to bed also meant falling asleep, and falling asleep meant nightmares and waking up feeling like you’ve seen the end of the world over and over. ‘Can’t.’

‘Bucky,’ Steve whispered even though it was so quiet on the rooftop that they might as well have been the only people still alive, ‘You think I don’t know what it’s like to go back into battle every night?’

_Of course._

Bucky said nothing, and Steve gently cupped his face with both hands. The tingle of Steve’s soft hands against his unshaved skin made Bucky’s eyes flutter closed, and suddenly the pictures of the previous night became clearer and clearer. No longer did he see the adversaries from his nightmares, but his pal’s body, undressed button for button – slowly – until he was in Bucky’s lap, naked and beautiful and _his_. Bucky kissed his temples. His cheeks. His lips. And then they were naked together, just kissing and holding onto each other until the only thing they could both see was each other.

‘Come back to bed with me,’ Steve reiterated, leaning his forehead against Bucky’s. ‘I’ll be there for you. Just come back. Please.’

_Steve had had bad dreams too._

‘Okay.’

All Bucky had to do was lean forward, and his lips were on Steve’s like a completed puzzle. Steve returned the kiss gently and intimately, and a warmth that seemed almost intrusive after the dreams they’d both had spread through their bodies like wildfire. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s body, and they stayed there entwined as one until Bucky thought he could hear birdsong again.


End file.
